Not Supposed To
by Kavi Leighanna
Summary: What if Sara gave Michael the chance to explain following the end of The Key? TINY SPOILERS! SaMi
1. Chapter 1

**_My first Prison Break (another step closer to my goal of having a story for every show I watch). I'm not asking you to be nice when you review, just be polite in letting me know what I did wrong. _**

**_SPOILERS! Kinda... nothing over the top. "The Key"... like there was going to be much of a choice! Did anyone else squeal royally when... beautiful Sara/Michael moment!_**

**_Oh, and there's a second part..._**

* * *

"_Is there something wrong?"_

"_No. Unless you want to talk about what happened this morning."_

"_I think I have a pretty good idea. We're done here."

* * *

_

She turned away from him, but he didn't move. The decision flashed through his mind and he made it without thinking twice. She expected him to leave, to move on and avoid confrontation. Instead, and glancing around to make sure no one was paying enough attention to him for what he was about to do.

"You want answers," he said quietly as he rolled down his sleeve, "give me a chance to give them to you." Then, he put endless faith in her hands.

"Call me tonight."

**

* * *

**

Part of him didn't expect a CO to come to his cell minutes before lockdown, but it happened.

"The Doc wants to see you," the officer said gruffly, following Michael down the halls to the infirmary. She was there, everything set up.

"Thanks," she said softly to the guard. "He'll be fine, I can handle him."

"You sure?" When she nodded, the guard turned and wandered off down the hall. She closed the door softly, taking her sweet time.

"I'm sorry," he said, if only to break the silence. "You weren't part of the plan." The sentences combined didn't make sense in her head. He apologized then told her about…

"What plan?" She would've been lying if she'd said her heart wasn't in her throat. She wasn't appreciative of it, but it was there, constricting her movement.

"My brother's innocent, Sara." The conviction in his voice almost startled her. Almost.

"He's been convicted," she replied, though she had never believed Lincoln was guilty of murder.

"That doesn't mean he's not innocent." Finally she faced him, not realizing he'd come close enough for her to have to look down to avoid him.

"What does his innocence have to do with your wife stealing my keys?" There, she'd said it. Well, spat it more like, but the words were out in the open. His hands brushed at her lab coat and when she finally looked into his face, his own awe and surprise at the motion written across his face, she realized he hadn't meant to touch her. But from the look in his eyes she had to tack a word onto the end… yet. He hadn't meant to touch her... yet.

"She's married to me for her green card," he spoke softly, his fingers still brushing against the starched fabric that she'd left on. "That's it."

"She stole my keys," Sara hissed, stepping around him and into the room.

"She wanted to help me." He spoke softly, in remorseful tones. But Sara had mentally prepared herself for this.

"You're not making sense," she finally told him sternly. "You told me you wanted a chance. Here it is." Her arms were folded over her chest, challenging him to continue.

"Lincoln didn't kill Terrence Steadman. He doesn't deserve to be on death row. I'm breaking him out of here." She might have laughed if it wasn't for the stone serious look on his face.

"You're going to what?"

"Break Lincoln out of here," he repeated softly, with more conviction than before.

"Are you insane?" She'd subconsciously taken a step closer to him. However, he mirrored her step backwards.

"I'm not finished. You deserve more answers than that." This new found honesty shocked Sara enough to keep her mouth shut. However, he stopped, rubbing a hand over his face and sighing, partly in anger.

"Do you have any idea how much danger you're putting yourself in?" he whispered to her, taking another step away and increasing the distance. "When you didn't know, you could tell the truth. I don't want you to lie, Sara." They both knew it was pointless. He'd involved her in his plan from day one. That's when it all started to slip into her mind, puzzle pieces falling snugly into place.

"I was a tool." Her voice was detached as her mind tried to absorb the information.

"The _doctor_ was a tool," Michael stressed. "It would have been easier if it wasn't _you_." Anger rushed hot through her veins at his words.

"You used me." Michael turned away from her, bracing one hand on the wall and knocking his head against the white. She made no move to stop him.

"You used me."

"I didn't want to." There was harsh conviction in his voice and it forced her to take an involuntary step backwards.

"If it was anyone else, this would have been easier," he repeated.

"But it's not anyone else, Michael, it's me. What the hell is going on?"

"I built this place," he said, voice just loud enough for her to hear. "I know these walls and I know the infirmary is not only the closest to the walls but the weakest point of the entire place. I needed constant access."

"Diabetes," she filled in promptly.

"I got shots in here every day, I could look around, pay attention. I had it all planned out, down to the letter. I didn't factor in you."

"What?" Half of her brain understood what he was saying. Nevertheless, the more rational part argued that there was no way she as a person had destroyed his plans.

"You weren't supposed to treat me with compassion. I needed a shot every time, that was it, but you tried to make this place better for me, as if I had something in here worth while." He still hadn't faced her, his body still facing the wall. Tears of disappointment and frustration were welling in her eyes, telling her something had to change.

"Michael, stop talking in circles." She hadn't meant for her voice to come out as pleading as it did, but the words had slipped out anyway.

"I came in here to break out my brother. From day one, that was my goal and I was going to use this place to do it. I had to have daily access, to be able to come in here and look at the place, to understand what was going on and I needed to do it as unobtrusively as possible."

"Your diabetes and my trust in you. We've been through that!"

"I didn't need _your_ trust, Sara, I needed the _doctor's_ trust."

"Where's the difference?"

"You're the difference." Now he'd turned, his intense eyes fixed on hers. He moved towards her, almost as a predator stalking his prey.

"I didn't expect the compassion, the caring." Then he stopped. "I denied it, ignored it, but then you were so cold today…" She was awed at the raw emotion in his voice. It wasn't normal for Michael to be so emotionally out of control, yet here he was, his eyes suddenly downcast, refusing to meet hers.

"Just spit it out," she said softly, knowing the tears were leaking into her voice. He looked up at her again and she knew all of her emotions were written on her face like a book.

Sure, she'd been angry when she'd found out Michael's 'wife' had stolen her keys. She'd been horribly upset when she realized Michael had been lying to her. Still, it was uncharacteristic of him to want to make amends like this. She'd confronted him a million times, begging him to tell her exactly what he was doing. Every time he'd shrugged her off with a vague answer.

Katie had tried to tell her a thousand times that she was in love with him. Sara was too headstrong and stubborn, refusing to believe what the nurse was saying. Still, she was standing not two feet from him, knowing her eyes were telling of her hurt, her anger and more importantly, her love.

"I wasn't supposed to fall in love with you."

He'd said it so quietly she wasn't sure she'd heard it but the rawness in his voice told her to make him say it again could be torture. It made sense now, all he was saying. He needed the access, not the compassion. If she had been cold and detached through the whole thing, just trying to get him in and out as fast as possible, she was sure they wouldn't be standing in this situation now.

But it hadn't worked out that way.

She'd reached out to him from day one, reading his file when she couldn't understand what he was saying to her. Now it made sense.

"Why didn't you say anything sooner?" she asked, knowing subconsciously that no matter how much she may yell at him now, it wasn't going to make a difference. Plus, if she wanted to help him he had to know he had her undying support.

Because she loved him too.

"Telling you would be putting you in danger. I don't want you to lose out over this. This isn't your fight."

"It became my fight the minute you walked through my infirmary doors," she shot back. "You know that."

"Sara…"

"No, Michael. Despite how illegal it is to break out of prison, neither you, nor Lincoln deserves to be here." Before she knew what was happening, before she had a chance to register him moving towards her, his lips were on hers. Like that morning, she fell into his embrace, allowing herself to get lost in his kiss.

"Why do you have to be so perfect?" he whispered to her when they broke away, his forehead against hers. She chuckled softly.

"I'm in love with a convict," she answered. "How perfect is that?" He pulled away from her, looking down slightly into her eyes.

"I didn't want to lie to you," he told her truthfully, and let is show in his eyes and the gentle way his hands stroked her back. She nodded.

"I know." Then he looked into her face, his eyes pleading.

"You'll wait for me?" It was a paraphrase of the question he'd asked earlier that morning.

"I'll wait for you," she told him, conviction heavy in her voice. "But only if you promise to behave yourself." He smiled, slightly happy that she'd tried to inject light-heartedness into the conversation. In response, he pulled back from her, letting his eyes trail down her body.

"I don't make promises I can't keep."


	2. Chapter 2

He was surprised at how easy it had been to tell her and how forgiving she had been. With her stubborn, headstrong nature he expected her to yell and scream at him, to tell him she never wanted to see him again. Instead, he was sitting on the examination table the next day while Sara prepared his insulin shot.

The best part was, it was like nothing had changed.

"How are you?" he asked softly, feeling much more open to her than he had originally. She flashed him a content, if shaky smile.

"Been thinking," she answered. She'd decided that if she wanted him to be honest with her, she had to be honest with him.

"About?" Their tones were low and intimate, something that Sara felt she didn't mind all that much. Any other time she would have worried about the close contact and personal tones, but after the revelations of the previous night, it was nice to know he hadn't reverted back to being detached.

"You, Lincoln… your plan." She was standing in front of him, preparing to administer the shot. Thus, Michael allowed his hand to rest on her hip under her lab coat.

"You're not going to be around when we leave," he told her and though his tone brooked no argument, he would have been upset if she didn't fight back.

"Where's here?" she asked, taking her sweet time, enjoying the feel of his hand.

"At Fox River, anywhere close to this building."

"Michael…"

"No." His hand had tightened reflexively on her hip with the increased insistence in his voice. Sara took a deep breath letting it out slowly.

"Why do you get to choose? Shoulder." He pulled off his shirt wincing slightly as the burn pulled at his skin.

"I shouldn't have told you…"

"Because it's dangerous, I know," she replied, moving to dab at the red mark. "But if it didn't matter to me I wouldn't have pressured you."

"Sara…" She met his eyes, defiance and determination written in their hazel depths.

"People have been making decisions for me for my entire life, Michael. I need to make one."

"Why this one?" Michael groaned, and though Sara was aware he was groaning to himself, she felt the need to answer. She'd thought about this conversation late into the previous night, after he'd left, and up until she'd seen him walk through the infirmary doors.

"Because this one affects my life as much as yours," she told him softly. That shocked him. His eyes met hers with curiosity and wonder.

"What?"

"If you get out of here," she explained quietly, "who's left? It would mean letting you go." He caught her hand, the one not holding the gauze she was using to remove the excess skin on his burn.

"I'll come back for you," he promised her simply. However, she shook her head.

"It's not enough," she told him, removing her hand from his to continue her work.

"It has to be enough," he insisted. "I'm not going to risk you along with everyone else. Especially not with everyone else."

"I know it's hard, Michael, but you might want to try normal English," she teased.

"People are after Lincoln. They'll stop at nothing to have him as the scapegoat for Steadman's 'murder'. Not only that but the people that are coming along when we break out…"

"There's more of you?"

"A crew of us," he confirmed for her softly.

"And I'm in danger?"

"I don't want you around these men, Sara."

"For God sakes, Michael!" she exclaimed softly. Stepping back, away from the distracting man and his hands she busied herself with cleaning up the supplies.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. Still, she didn't turn to face him. Instead, she continued to move around, making sure to keep her distance from him. He allowed her to keep her distance, not moving from where he was sitting on the bed. Finally, she stopped and turned.

"How long?" Michael was rolling down his sleeve and looked up, surprised at the question.

"I beg your pardon?" She couldn't face him again, turning and bracing her hands on the table behind her.

"How long? When are you leaving?" She didn't know why she was so adamant about it. It was difficult for her to think about going through her days without seeing him in the infirmary. Since they'd exchanged 'surrogate' I love yous the previous day, she'd allowed herself to dream, more so than she had when they were stuck in their rut of unresolved sexual tension.

Michael couldn't tell her the exact day. She would be working days, like she always did, so she wouldn't, or shouldn't, be around when they left. It was the main reason he wasn't going to tell her anything.

"I don't want to lie to you again, Sara. I won't tell you." Her head dropped forward to her chest.

"I'm sorry," he told her softly as he left.

**

* * *

**

It was a couple of days later that she heard about them leaving. Her heart constricted painfully as she thought of them. She truly believed Michael would have thought things out and did truly believe that he would be okay.

She managed to hide herself when they questioned her about what she knew. Of course, Michael hadn't told her enough, only that he was going to break out. She had no problem feeling good about telling the truth. She couldn't help smiling, however, as she went through her afternoon work, realizing that Michael had deliberately not told her anything, knowing her hatred of lying.

"Hey Sara?" Katie poked her head in the examination room where Sara was replacing things that officers had moved around in their search for clues.

"Yeah?" she responded absently.

"You going to move the flower on your desk?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The flower on your desk."

"Is it real?" If it was real, Sara was sure it was from her father for some reason or another. If it wasn't…

"No." Her heart leapt back into her throat, a place she'd only recently felt it vacate. She dropped what she was picking up and rushed to her desk, delicately picking up the folded rose. Under it, as she expected, was a note.

_Sara,_

_You know why I didn't tell you anything about our plans. I promise to come back for you._

_-- Michael _

She couldn't stop the smile that crept over her face. She trusted him to come back for her. Making sure to put the note and the flower into one of her locked drawers before getting back to work.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next couple of months, Michael only sent her pictures of where he was, sometimes postcards if he couldn't find a good picture from a disposable camera. Once in a while she got an actual letter, detailing what he'd done. Those she hid carefully, wanting to hold onto him in anyway she could.

Until he came back for her, she'd hold the letters.

**

* * *

**

She hadn't been paying attention to much around her, going through her days on autopilot. Thus, when her birthday rolled around, she really hadn't even been aware it was coming.

"I thought you liked to take today off," Katie said when she spotted Sara.

"Why would I do that?" Katie looked at her strangely.

"Have you looked at a calendar recently?" Sara shook her head, continuing with her morning routine of putting on her lab coat and organizing her files. She'd avoided calendars afraid of the reminder of how many days had passed since she'd seen him.

"Does 'Happy Birthday' mean anything to you?" Sara paused, then glanced at the day calendar she'd carefully avoided, just outside the office. Her shoulders sagged. Had it really been almost a year? It felt like longer.

She'd been living off the little contact she had with him for as long as she could remember. Now, her birthday had rolled around and the hopelessness that curled through her chest made her wish she'd taken the day off. She knew he wasn't going to come.

"Do you want the day?" Katie's voice broke through her thoughts. Sara sighed.

"I'll leave at lunch," she decided finally. "I made it this far, I might as well stay for a bit."

**

* * *

**

Lunch managed to come faster than Sara had wanted. With a heavy sigh she packed up her files and, with a wave to Katie, left the infirmary. Her car almost snuck up on her and she unlocked it without thinking. Instead, her mind was focused on the fact that she was about to spend her birthday afternoon on her own.

The box outside her door made her roll her eyes. She assumed the box was the birthday present from her father and was pretty sure it was just cursory. Still, she brought it into the apartment, setting it on the coffee table and moving to her bedroom. When she stepped out, her eyes once again alighted on the box. With another roll of her eyes she grabbed the box and set it on her lap.

It was then she noticed there wasn't a return address.

Her heart rate picked up and her stomach dropped to her toes. Michael was the only one who sent her things without a return address. She grabbed a knife from her kitchen drawer and sliced through the tape with eager, shaking hands. The lid slipped off easily and the contents made her gasp.

The entire thing was filled with folded roses.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she shuffled through the multi-coloured paper. She was amazed at the sheer devotion. It would have taken hours to fold and perfect the sheer number of flowers in the box.

She was surprised by the ringing of the phone. Absently, she picked it up.

"Happy Birthday." A smile slid across her face.

"How many are there?" she asked, now only allowing the tips of her fingers to graze the edges of the paper.

"500." Sara sighed.

"Plus the 500 you sent me a couple of weeks ago… you've been busy."

"That was for the day—"

"You walked into my infirmary, I know," she said. They were silent for a few minutes.

"I miss you," she said softly.

"Soon," he promised. "We're working out the kinks now."

"You aren't coming here…" She heard him sigh.

"We did it, Sara. All of the hiding… it's going to pay off." It was her turn to sigh, contentment weaving through her veins.

"When?"

"Next two weeks," he responded. "Keep an eye on the news."

"That big?"

"Bigger." The word made her shiver pleasantly.

"Will I know?"

"Without a doubt. Love you." She smiled. The words flowed from his lips much easier than they used to. To her, it was a testament to how he'd allowed her further into his heart.

"Love you, too."

**

* * *

**

It really wasn't that long. She saw it on the front page of the newspapers one of the guards was reading and _knew_.

VICE-PRESIDENT IMPLICATED IN CONSPIRACY

Her heart had jumped into her throat at the tame time she felt the same area contract. The result was an uncomfortable choking feeling. She managed to suppress her gag reflex and forced herself to turn back to her papers.

Ten days.

He'd asked for two weeks and he'd done it in ten days.

**

* * *

**

The news that night was all about the cover up. Lincoln Burrows, Veronica Donovan and Michael Scofield flashed across the screen more times that she was willing to count. She was surprised at the intricacies, the twists and turns the case had taken.

When the knock sounded, they'd just gone to a commercial.

She groaned as she stood. There went her peaceful night of puzzling and overanalysing the entire situation.

"This had better be damned…" Her voice trailed off as she looked at the man on the other side of her door. They stood silently for a few moments, taking each other in.

"Hiya stranger," he finally said softly. A gentle smile spread across her face.

"Hiya back." She opened the door wider, allowing him to step through. He saw the news still flickering and smiled.

"You guys were busy," she said, still speaking softly. She was subconsciously afraid that talking any louder would ruin the feeling of comfort that had spread through her system. Sure, there was an underlying sexual tension, but it was buried under layers of relief and contentment too think to allow it to come through with any effect. She led him to the couch and sat down. He followed, facing her and ignoring the still blinking television. He knew the story anyway.

"Tell me," she requested softly. He knew what she was asking and sighed heavily.

"Does it matter?" She just waited expectantly for him to start.

"What do you want to hear?" Part of him was happy they hadn't done anything physical. To him, it spoke of a much deeper connection that did not need the physical aspect to make itself known. The way they knew what the other was talking about was testament enough.

"Took us a week to get over the border," he started. "We had a few set backs."

"Who made it?" Her fingers were crawling towards his. He pretended not to notice.

"All but T-bag. We let the authorities find him." She nodded.

"We worked from there. Veronica would send things to us and we combed through it all…"

"All of you?"

"Linc, LJ and I. The others…" he trailed off with a shrug, indicated he wasn't exactly sure what had happened to them all. She smiled in understanding.

"So that's it?"

"I go back to my life," he agreed. She hummed in acknowledgement.

"Where are you going to go?" she asked, too fearful to include herself with him. Still, they way they'd just chatted about his life after the escape had felt remarkably like discussing the day over dinner.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Me?"

"You didn't think I wouldn't want you as part of my life, did you?" The question was rhetorical and earned him a sheepish smile.

"Lincoln?" He shrugged.

"We don't talk about the future."

"Too busy with the present." It was a statement of understanding, but he nodded anyway. He gently picked up her hand, trailing the tips of his fingers over her knuckles. She watched, transfixed by the delicate brush and the idea that he was actually there with her.

"Are you still running?" She felt him tug her closer and moved with it, sitting so his knee was brushing against hers.

"No. Lincoln and Veronica visited your father this morning."

"My father?" He smiled sheepishly, well aware her relationship with the Illinois governor was not the greatest.

"I told them not to…"

"He said…"

"Yeah." It came out confused. Her tone had indicated that she didn't expect her father to let him off. She shook her head in disbelief before twining her fingers with his.

"What?"

"He interrogated me about you after you escaped," she explained. "It didn't sound like he was overly fond of you and the possibility of a relationship." His eyebrows knit in confusion.

"I guess…" She shrugged helplessly. "Everyone interrogated me. God, even Pope and Bellick!" She was getting agitated, something he was feeling particularly guilty for.

"Sara…"

"It wasn't the interrogation as much as the implications," she continued as if she hadn't heard her name. "'Did you have a relationship with any of the escapees?' Or even worse, 'Did you and Scofield go at it?'" He knew the last one would have come from Bellick and felt a protective, possessive anger seep into his control.

"I told you…"

"They belittled it. Everything I did at Fox River came under review." He pulled her closer as tears welled in her eyes. The world of pain he'd so obviously caused her churned his stomach painfully.

"Michael," she said after her sobs had subsided. "I want to get out of Illinois."

"Wherever you want to go," he promised, his hand running through her hair. She was snuggled tightly against his chest, her arms curled into the sweater he wore.

"I have vacation saved up," she continued. "Once we find a place, I'll give in my two weeks and take my vacation."

"But you love what you do," he protested. Sara shook her head.

"I'm not making a difference at Fox River, and don't give me the 'you made a difference in me' speech," she ordered, watching his mouth open to protests, then snap shut again.

"Are you sure?" he asked instead. She nodded.

"I need to get out of here." They sat in silence for a few minutes, just enjoying each other's company.

"Come home with me?" he asked a while later, pressing a kiss to her head.

"Sorry?"

"Come see Lincoln, meet Veronica and LJ," he clarified. "Come for dinner." How he knew she'd skipped that particular meal was lost on her.

"Okay," she found herself agreeing. "Let me change." She reluctantly pulled herself out of his embrace to change from the sweats she'd thrown on when she'd returned home. She paused at the hallway entrance.

"Michael…"

"I love you," he answered with a smile, the words bringing a sense of contentment over him. The words had grown on him since he'd told her just over a year ago. He'd known she was going to have doubts about his return and whether or not it had all been real. He also knew he'd just abolished most of those doubts.

"I love you, too." He heard the bedroom door close and settled back against the couch. He knew he'd just been given the greatest gift.

Even if he felt he wasn't supposed to take it.

* * *

_**Okay... this is kind a meant to be the end, however, I do want to writea futurefic with Michael and Sara and kids and a marriage and the whole thing. Having said that, there could be an epilogue of sorts about dinner OR I can put it into a sequel as the first chapter and go from there into the future. **_

_**Please let me know. You guys have been awesome at reviewing so far, don't stop now.**_

**_Oh, and I don't like the martyr Michael, so he's much sweeter in this. None of the angsty I have to go back to jail and serve my time to society... Hope you like him anyway and I'm sorry if he's a little OOC._**


End file.
